


snowflakes

by arsenicjay



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Cultural References, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hogsmeade, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenicjay/pseuds/arsenicjay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto is a simple wizard with simple needs; a nice date, a little romance, and he's all good to go. </p><p>Or, Akaashi and Bokuto spend a day in Hogsmeade just before Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apareciums](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apareciums/gifts).



> Sup Lynna, I promised you this fic and I’m sorry I took so long. And by that I mean, I’m sorry that SASO finished 3-4 months ago and...I’ve only just finished this. Hollow laughter. The original prompt [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/4403.html?thread=1517619#cmt1517619); I started writing it and it spontaneously turned into a b'day fic months before Akaashi's b'day and now hey, here we are.
> 
> Happy Birthday, Akaashi Keiji. I hope you have a good one.

Bokuto is late.

Akaashi tugs up his scarf, tucking his nose behind the soft fabric. He stifles a slight shiver and shifts on his feet to check if he can still feel his toes. Despite having charmed his robes to repel the snow, keeping most of him relatively dry and warm, the reach of the spell doesn’t keep the chill from biting at his extremities. He crosses his arms, hunching against the breeze as a small part of him starts wondering if Bokuto has forgotten.

Akaashi wouldn’t put it past him; Bokuto has forgotten more important things before. Like that time when he left a Befuddlement Draught brewing as he flicked spitballs at Kuroo, until his cauldron overheated and exploded across the room in a spectacular mess. Or that time he ended up chasing after a unicorn, in a hopeless attempt at haltering the agitated creature during his Care of Magical Creatures class, _despite_ having cornered Akaashi with a sly grin in the corridor just prior and—

“Hey, Keiji!” comes a familiar shout, and Akaashi turns. He takes in Bokuto’s dishevelled appearance with a raised eyebrow.

“Were you held up?” he asks.

“Um, yeah. Tetsurou, uh, wanted to show me something at Zonko’s. And then we kinda got distracted, y’know how it goes...” Bokuto trails off, looking sheepish. Then he shakes his head and gestures wildly, saying, “But I’m here now! Ready to go? Let’s go!”

With the Gryffindor scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, robe sleeves pushed up to reveal his undershirt, and non-school issue fingerless gloves (Akaashi eyes them with mild disbelief; how on earth are they supposed to keep Bokuto’s hands warm?), Bokuto stands with his chest thrown out, expansive and excitable. It’s a stark contrast to how Akaashi still shivers from the breeze, face half buried into the warmth of his scarf.

Winter has never been his preferred season, if mostly for the fact that he doesn’t seem well equipped for extended periods of cold. Bokuto, however, blends into the wintery Hogsmeade scene as easily as the tiny pale snowflakes melting into his hair.

“Where did you want to go?” Akaashi asks, his voice muffled behind the fabric. “You just asked to meet me here.”

“Anywhere you want!” comes Bokuto’s prompt reply. He reaches out to grab Akaashi’s arm, adding, “C’mon, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“We still have three hours before we have to head back into Hogwarts,” Akaashi reminds him, reluctantly uncrossing his arms to let Bokuto pull him onto the High Street. He knows that Bokuto is just itching to slide his hand down, fingerless gloves and all, and interlace their fingers together. There’s too many students around though, too many wandering eyes, so Akaashi stays a step behind Bokuto and allows himself the guise of being tugged along instead.

“Yeah, but there’s heaps of stuff we gotta do. It’s our last weekend before Christmas!” Bokuto insists, marching forward. Snow crunches under their feet as they walk, and Bokuto dodges through the crowd as easy as he dodges through the Quidditch pitch. Akaashi barely manages to keep up, stumbling over the hem of his robes as they step up onto the footpath again right in front of Honeydukes.

Akaashi gives Bokuto a glance. “Really?” he asks, feeling somewhat unimpressed.

But Bokuto just laughs and drags him into the store. The door chime tinkles overhead, and Akaashi is enveloped in the warm scent of spun sugar and rich chocolate faster than he can blink.

Already distracted by the barrels of Every Flavor Beans lining the main counter, Bokuto bounces away with a muttered, “One sec, I just gotta check—” to peer into their depths. He’s been looking for the all elusive Toffee Bean since the beginning of the school year—the shopkeeper’s told him he’s not actually allowed to paw his way through the barrel, so instead he stares, searching, with alarmingly unblinking eyes. Best to leave him to it for a while, Akaashi thinks as he drifts into the shop.

He side-steps the younger students chattering and rushing about with their licorice wands and chocolate wands alike, and pauses at the Ice Mice. They squeak in their boxes, tittering and high-pitched. Akaashi glances up at the Sugared Butterfly Wings instead, leaving dusty trails of icing sugar in their wake as they lazily flap in the cage above.

Wishful thinking strikes him, but he’ll never finish them before the Hogwarts train takes them back to London for the holiday break. And he’s not certain the jittery, whimsical sweets will exactly earn his parents’ approval, let alone survive the Portkey back to Japan.

A hand shoots out in front of him and grabs a squirming Ice Mice. Akaashi steps back only to bump into another warm body. He twists around, startled, but it turns out to be Bokuto.

“Did you want some? Lemme buy ‘em for you,” Bokuto says, as he plucks another Ice Mice up by the tail. He croons at them as they squeak angrily. “Aww, they’re kinda cute aren’t they? Too cute to eat maybe.”

Akaashi shakes his head. “I won’t eat more than one or two by the time I leave tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Bokuto drops the pair of Ice Mice back into their box. They scamper away from his reach, hiding in the corner of the box as they tremble. “Yeah, I forgot. Sort of. Uh, when do you leave again?"

"My Portkey is set for eight o'clock in the morning—"

"What? That's so early!" Bokuto interrupts him with a groan. Akaashi frowns. It sounds off for some reason, his dismay louder than usual. But then Bokuto is grabbing his wrist again and pulling him out of Honeydukes, as he says, "We should make this trip count then! You’re probably hungry right? C’mon, let’s go eat.”

Outside, Hogsmeade gleams with freshly fallen snow, piled high on the quaint eaves mounted above the storefront windows. The whole village thrums with a sense of energy—though Christmas spirit or magical, he’s not entirely sure. It paints a stark contrast to the cold neon of Tokyo city, Akaashi thinks absently—bustling, bright lights, sparking electricity and utterly void of the steady pulse of a magical undercurrent.

Perhaps it's no surprise that magic has faded underground in Japan, sinking into dormancy beneath the roar of the cities and otherwise retreating to a few small enclaves hidden among the mountainsides. That’s why his parents had eventually agreed to send him to Hogwarts after all, despite their reservations with allowing him to spend his uh, formative adolescent years in a foreign culture.

A foreign culture where he's spent the last week getting caught up in the festivities for a pagan holiday, Akaashi thinks with a wry note. As they drift down the street, Bokuto pauses at each window, pressing his nose up against the chilled glass. He peers into the store with eyes as wide as a child at Christmas (ah, literally perhaps), and makes quiet noises of longing.

Well, it'd be a lie to say that Akaashi doesn't _enjoy_ the experience, though whether it's the company or the festivities themselves, he's not sure—

A sudden tug at his arm jars him out of his thoughts as Bokuto enthuses, "Come look at this, Keiji!" and points to a strange contraption in Dervish and Banges.

Akaashi follows the tug on instinct and steps forward, inadvertently pressing closer to Bokuto as he leans down to squint through the window. Body heat seeps through the thick layer of robes between them, and it feels familiar enough that Akaashi can't resist the self-indulgent urge to lean closer. He fits nicely into Bokuto’s side, he thinks, and Bokuto is comfortingly solid against him.

“Which one is it then?” he asks in a low voice, then glances up in confusion when there's no response.

Oh.

Bokuto's cheeks are a healthy shade of pink, his bare fingers fidgeting with his robes. He straightens up briefly, gaze darting around their surroundings before he leans back down to whisper, "Oi, oi, I thought you didn't like this stuff."

"I'm just standing next to you," Akaashi tells him, in the most deadpan voice he can muster.

"Yeah, _but—_ "

With an agonised expression, Bokuto opens his mouth and closes it again. What he wants to say after that goes unspoken; instead, he grabs hold of Akaashi’s shoulders and, with now ruddy cheeks, insists on pushing him all the way to the Three Broomsticks Inn. Akaashi nearly trips with how fast Bokuto is walking, still feeling rather bewildered. His protests are pointedly ignored.

"That's not fair," Bokuto says when they're finally seated inside. His hair is haphazard and windblown; he gives Akaashi the impression of a distinctly ruffled owl. "You can't surprise me like that. I wasn't ready!"

"I still don't know why that was a surprise, Koutarou,” Akaashi says, as he takes a sip of his Butterbeer and lets the drink warm him, inside out.

"You suddenly cuddled up next to me!" Bokuto blurts out and Akaashi nearly chokes. His tone turns accusing: "You know I'm weak when you're being all sweet and stuff."

"Being sweet?" Akaashi manages, setting his tankard down. The buzz of voices inside the inn are loud enough to drown out their conversation to any passersby, but he still lowers his voice when he says, "That— standing next to you is being sweet?"

"Cuddling," Bokuto corrects him, nodding emphatically. "You're not a romantic kind of guy, Keiji. I gotta choose my battles." He glances down at his own empty hand, fingers flexing as he opens and closes them fretfully. "I mean, we haven't held hands for ages either," he muses. "I'm like, in a drought. So I'm super weak right now."

"A drought," Akaashi echoes. He shakes his head. "We're in the middle of winter, with snow piled ten inches thick outside, and you're in a drought."

"I'm a thirsty wizard in a dry desert—"

"So conjure some water—"

"And you're like, my oasis," Bokuto says, crossing his arms. Then adds, "That's always closed. Like a swimming pool in winter."

"Koutarou, that doesn't even make sense."

"You know what I mean!"

It's probably a testament to how well-versed Akaashi is in Bokuto-speak that yes, he gets the inkling that he does know what Bokuto means. They make a very unlikely pair, Akaashi thinks to himself; one boy who'd have to sit on his hands to keep them to himself, and the other who'd probably eat his own hands before willingly putting on a display of public affection.

It’s not that he doesn’t like it per se; it’s a matter of how he was raised and well, Akaashi’s spent his childhood watching how not to entreat scrutiny.

Though Akaashi would like to point out that there's a reason they don't simply hold hands when they do manage to steal a private moment away from prying eyes, and that's because Bokuto's hands are usually down his pants by then. And well, vice versa too, Akaashi supposes, as a faint heat rises in his cheeks.

He glances around the room; their table is backed into a cosy little corner and mostly obscured from view of the wizards and witches scattered at tables throughout.

"Well," he says, after a moment’s consideration. "Would you like to hold hands now, then?"

"What? Like, right—" Bokuto blinks, taking a moment to process this unexpected offer, then almost immediately thrusts his hand out across the table, delight obvious on his face. "Yes! Hold my hand, right now."

"Romantic," Akaashi says drily, but he still takes the proffered hand. The combined weight of their loose grip falls to the table with a dull thud, and the familiar broom-grip callouses of Bokuto's palms are rough against his own skin.

"Yup," Bokuto hums.

"What?"

"Romantic," Bokuto agrees, apparently pleased for the moment.

He carries on talking, rattling off odd observations about the patrons here (a wizard sitting at the bar had surreptitiously pocketed a few Cockroach Clusters back at Honeydukes), mixed with stories about his last class (apparently, Konoha accidentally burned his copy of _Leading a Charmed Life_ yesterday, when Komi amplified his Heating charm for fun). Bokuto tends to talk the same way he does anything else: with every fibre of his being. Usually, at this point in his storytelling he'd be making wild gestures already, hands gesturing as rapidly as he speaks. But his thumb starts to unconsciously brush over the skin of Akaashi’s knuckles instead, squeezing his hand every time he suspects Akaashi needs to be paying more attention.

It’s distracting; Akaashi loses track of Bokuto's chatter several times before their order pops on their table, still steaming from the kitchen.

"We can hold hands again later, Bokuto-san," Akaashi says, when Bokuto looks dejected at having to let go.

"Not for ages," he complains. He pushes his peas around in the gravy. "You're going back to Japan, I'm gonna stick around Hogwarts—"

"It's only for two weeks."

"Yeah but it's two weeks _without_ you, which sucks."

"You've managed most of your life without me. Another two weeks won't hurt."

"Yeah but you're gonna be in _Japan._ I can't even send you an owl cause Sir Hootington might die if he flies that far."

Sir Hootington (who tends to go by Hoots more often than not) is Bokuto's owl, faithful companion and messenger extraordinaire. Akaashi gets the impression that Hoots takes care of Bokuto more often than the other way around, though. He's seen the large horned owl nip at Bokuto's fingers during breakfast in the Great Hall, when Bokuto's managed to land himself in yet another detention for his pranks around the castle.

"Anyway, that's not even the point, cause—"

Bokuto breaks off with an abrupt yelp, plucking at the loose folds of his robes. Then he starts to urgently patpatpat around his robes, wearing an alarmed expression—as if he’s forgotten something.

Akaashi narrows his eyes. “Koutarou, what's—" but he barely gets the question out before Bokuto interrupts him loudly, sounding relieved,

"So to make up for it, I got you this instead. Surprise!"

There's a small, inconspicuous parcel being offered to him, and Akaashi stares blankly for a few moments. In the background, Bokuto starts to mouth _happy_ and _birthday_ at him as if concerned that Akaashi mightn't get the sentiment.

“You remembered,” Akaashi says, after a moment. “From last week.” Then, “Ah. Were you trying to build this up?”

Bokuto doesn’t even have the self-consciousness to look bashful, crossing his arms cheerfully instead. “Yup! Did it work?”

Akaashi bites back a smile, even as a feeling of warmth flares to life deep in his chest. He takes the present with careful hands, examining the flimsy wrapping of paper and string as he draws it close.

The parcel is flat, wide enough to fit comfortably in both of his palms and it’s heavy in his grip. He pulls the packaging apart and blinks in surprise when he catches a glimpse of himself, peeking through the folds of crumpled paper.

“What is it for?” he asks, holding up a thin, reflective disc.

“It’s a two-way mirror,” Bokuto explains eagerly, as he digs into his own robes again. “Sec—here, look.”

With a clatter on the table, he sets down another mirror that looks almost identical to the one in Akaashi’s hands. “Akaashi Keiji,” he says, enunciating clearer than he has all day.

All of a sudden, Bokuto’s face swims onto the surface of Akaashi’s mirror, and he nearly drops it, startled. Across the table, Bokuto waves, wriggling his fingers and Akaashi watches this mirror-Bokuto do the same.

“It’s genius right? Made it myself!”

“This is advanced magic,” Akaashi says slowly. “How did you....?”

“I used a Protean Charm,” is the immediate reply. Akaashi thinks the disbelief must show on his face, because Bokuto eventually mutters under his breath, “Tetsurou might’ve helped. Just a little bit.”

Akaashi touches the dulled, metallic edge of the mirror, running a gentle thumb over it before glancing back up as Bokuto continues talking.

“I was wondering what to give you, cause your birthday was last week, right? Though it kinda counts for Christmas too.” The mirror-Bokuto echoes the words of his real-life counterpart in a tinny voice, barely a split second after he says them. “Didja think I’d forget?”

“I was starting to think so, yes.”

Bokuto looks smug. “But I didn’t! Impressive, right? Anyway, now we can talk while you’re gone—I know your old folks don’t really like Western magic, I mean, you’re not connected to the Floo Network, are you? But this is infinitely cooler, and we can talk all night too—”

His parents might not the type to be impressed by the charms, magical or not, of a teenage wizard—but as for Akaashi, that indescribable fondness is welling up in him again, steady and sure. He sets the mirror down and Bokuto falters into silence.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, worried.

“I do,” Akaashi responds immediately. He’s reaching forward before he realises, stretching to touch Bokuto’s hand where it rests palm-up on the table. Squeezing lightly, he tips his head forward and quietly says, “I’m touched by your gift. Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto beams at him, as bright as the winter sun. “You’re doing that formal thing again, in Japanese. What’s it mean?”

Shaking his head and drawing back, Akaashi folds the mirror back up into the protective paper wrapping. He tucks it into his bag. “It’s alright. The nuance doesn’t translate well, and it’s more habit than anything.”

“You should teach me though!” Bokuto leans over the table, curiosity now firmly piqued. “I gotta learn before I go visit your parents, figure out how to make them think I’m cool—”

“I don’t think that’s the impression you want to go for.”

“But everyone thinks I’m cool. Even you think I’m cool! Right?”

“Yes,” Akaashi says, as sincere as he possibly can. "You were very cool just then," he adds, and then hears a little _hurk!_ noise from the other side of the table. “Again?” he asks, exasperated as he watches Bokuto fluster.

“You know I’m weak when you say things like that! Being weird and sweet and stuff,” Bokuto says, muffled as he drops his head onto the table, and then it’s Akaashi’s turn to flush.

He is not being _sweet._ He’s just being honest. Though somehow, that realisation is more embarrassing than the first.

His cheeks redden further, all but glowing with heat, and he ducks his head down, determined to busy himself with eating instead.

“Anywhere else you wanna go?” Bokuto asks later, jamming his hands into his pockets when they leave the rowdy inn. He insisted on paying— "My treat! Gotta do the boyfri— _ow_ , you don't have to jab me!" and earned them both a few raised eyebrows at the counter.

More amused than curious, Akaashi hopes. He's had enough embarrassment for one day.

The temperature has dropped by now, and the chill brushes across his cheeks like a cold breath. Akaashi tucks his chin deeper into the protection of his scarf and shakes his head in response.

"How about the Shrieking Shack? Or we could go back to Zonko's, that's always pretty awesome." Bokuto strides ahead with an obvious bounce in his step. He turns around to walk backwards, looking wary, "Or, well, if you really want to … we could go to Madame Puddifoot’s ...?"

The expression on Bokuto's face says that he would rather give up hand-holding rights for an entire month than go to Madame Puddifoot’s, and Akaashi internally agrees. "I'd rather not," he says, and watches Bokuto breathe out in relief.

"Thank Merlin's saggy balls, Tetsurou made me go in there for a dare once and I had confetti following me for the rest of the day— hey how about we go to—"

"Koutarou," Akaashi interrupts, and the statement is abrupt enough for Bokuto to turn back to him, blinking his bright eyes. "Today has been a good day," he pauses. "A good … date. I enjoyed it."

There's a pause where Bokuto squints at him, oddly scrutinising. Then,

"You're really cute sometimes, you know that?"

There’s an enormous grin on Bokuto’s face when Akaashi glances at him sharply. That’s the only warning he gets before an arm snakes around his shoulder and pulls him in tight.

He feels a warm softness flutter at his cheek, ticklish against his cooled skin, before he realises Bokuto has kissed him.

There's a low, pleased hum, and the belated protest on Akaashi’s tongue is swept away by the sudden lump in his throat. It’s not the first Christmas break that they will spend apart after more than four years together, but still: tucked into Bokuto’s grip, pressed against the steady rhythm of his heart, Akaashi feels that quiet urge to just _stay_.

Perhaps Bokuto senses his hesitance, or maybe he just feels the way Akaashi lingers too long in the loose embrace, but he squeezes once before pulling back.

"No mistletoe, but I still wanted to kiss you, so I did," Bokuto says with a grin, and it's so matter-of-fact that Akaashi doesn't know whether to laugh or give him another jab to the ribs. They're still in public after all.

But there are less people about now. All that’s left are a few stragglers and a mess of footprints in the snow.

Bokuto’s palm is warm, his fingertips cold, when Akaashi reaches down and links their hands. Bokuto jolts, then turns to him and asks, “Wait, really?” and it sounds so delighted, so hopeful that Akaashi just squeezes in response.

“Should we go back to Zonko’s then?” he asks.

Bokuto grins at him, squeezes back as they set off, and Akaashi is content with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jihye, Ciry and Whit for looking over this for me. You guys are amazing. 
> 
> Kudos and constructive criticism always appreciated. On [Tumblr](arsenicjay.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](twitter.com/arsenicjay).


End file.
